


Take Me to Church

by mylifeisloki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Knifeplay, Prostate Massage, Song fic, bottom!Steve, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylifeisloki/pseuds/mylifeisloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finds what he's looking for in his nights with Natasha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me to Church

**Author's Note:**

> This has been on my mind for ages. Every time I hear this song-- 'Take Me to Church', by Hozier--I think about Steve and Nat, so here you go. Just a note: I've never written anything like this, so I'm just kind of hoping it stands up to a safe, sane, consensual test and makes sense.

_ My lover's got humor.  
_ _ She's the giggle at a funeral,  
_ _ Knows everybody's disapproval...  
_ __ Should have worshiped her sooner.

Natasha liked to wear black on their nights together. Steve knew that not all her panties were black, not all her bras were black- but she  _ always _ wore black on their nights together. When Steve had come to her the first time, on the heels of their conversation about release and submission and giving in sometimes, Steve had dropped to his knees right away, bowing his head for her because he needed someone to tell him what to do. At that particular juncture in his life, on that night especially, he needed her.   
  
It was all about trusting that Natasha would know how to handle him and to be honest, there was no one Steve trusted more. She'd saved his life, and she treated him like more than Captain America. Who else could he trust with this, knowing that they wouldn't be taking advantage of him?

And Natasha herself was so diverting that Steve had momentarily wondered whether or not he should go about this a different way. Conditioning made him want to ask her out, take her dancing, kiss her good night, and maybe ask her to go steady. He wasn't stupid enough to think that he was anything less than a romantic... but then again, that wasn't who Natasha was. She was  _ more _ , somehow. 

_ If the heavens ever did speak, _ _  
_ _ She's the last true mouthpiece. _ _  
_ _ Every Sunday's getting more bleak, _ _  
_ _ Fresh poison each week... _ _  
_   
That first night had only cemented that Steve needed this. He needed Natasha in order to relax, in order to get some peace. Maybe it wasn't only about peace, though. Maybe it was about atoning for the sin of survival, putting in the time and effort to be forgiven. Church sure as hell didn't provide him any comfort these days. Would a truly benevolent God have done this to him? Would a merciful Lord have taken everyone he'd loved away from him the way he did? Natasha was his father, son, and Holy Spirit now. And she was so much more worthy of his worship.   
  
By now, they were used to the routine. Steve would give her a look or touch her elbow or lace their fingers together during the day and Natasha would give him a time. He would show up at her room right on time, letting himself in and neatly folding his shirt up before dropping to his knees and assuming the position. Only then would Natasha acknowledge him, and it was like she was a different person. Her features were the same, but cooler, her eyes fiercely watching him for any sign of discomfort even now, weeks after they'd started this. The only time he got to see her break before they finished up was if she allowed him to actually pleasure her. Steve was to be of service, and he would be lying if he said he didn't take his own pleasure from giving Natasha hers.   
  
Tonight, she was wearing a black sports bra and matching black briefs. It would hardly matter what she wore- Steve ways thought she was beautiful in the most terrifying, debilitating way.   
  
"We're going to do things a little differently tonight, _moya malen'kaya derevyannaya soldat*_ ," she began, brushing her fingers through his hair. Steve shivered, keeping his eyes down like he was supposed to, until she curled her hand under his chin and tilted his head up, giving him an expectant look.   
  
Steve swallowed. "Yes, ma'am," he answered obediently.   
  
Natasha smiled and leaned forward to kiss his forehead before standing up again. She disappeared for a moment and returned with a small knife, the blade shining in the soft light of the room. They'd already established that Steve enjoyed a little pain- it would seem that Natasha was ready to take that to the next level. She touched his knee with her toe and his gaze snapped up right away- he knew what she wanted. "Do you trust me?" She asked, toying with the knife in her hand.   
  
It was more than a question of trust. Natasha wanted to know if he consented and Steve wondered if she realized that the answer to both those questions came immediately. "Yes, ma'am."

_ We were born sick; you heard them say it.  
_ _ My church offers no absolutes.  
_ _ She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom.”  
_ _ The only heaven I'll be sent to...  
_ __ Is when I'm alone with you.

"Good," she praised, stepping closer and moving to stand behind him. Steve kept his eyes open, his gaze focused on the floor in front of him. He knew what was coming. He knew she would take care of him, but right now he was on a hair trigger and all he could do was wait, the tense line of his shoulders remaining still as Natasha traced her fingers over his skin. 

Finally, there was the smooth slide of a blade against his skin and Steve let out a breath he'd never consciously held, his eyes closing. There was a throbbing pain that came with this new manipulation of his skin. He could feel the blood welling up and dripping down the line of his back from where she'd cut just over his shoulder blade and it felt good. He couldn't explain it. Pain wasn't supposed to be good. This wasn't supposed to be relaxing. He was so  _ broken _ \--

“You're thinking too much.” Natasha's voice was like a warm blanket; safe and low, something he could wrap his insecurities in and leave there to be forgotten. Steve's shoulders relaxed a bit, but he made no attempt to actually reply. “A lot on your mind tonight, hm?”

_I was born sick,  
_ _but I love it...  
_ _Command me to be well.  
_ _Amen, amen, amen, amen._

He nodded, but didn't speak. She would let him know when he was allowed to really answer her. Natasha slid her fingers over the back of his neck, tickling the short hairs there and moving to stand in front of him again. As she moved, she trailed the tip of the blade over Steve's shoulder, not actually cutting him, but reminding him that she _could_ , and she could do so whenever she wanted to. It wasn't up to him.

“We're going to take care of that,” she said confidently, tightening her hold on the blade to make a smooth cut on his right pec. This time, Steve could _see_ the skin split as she moved, the way blood welled up immediately- probably only made easier because of how flushed he was. Stepping back, Natasha turned and retrieved something from a drawer nearby, setting it behind Steve on the bed so he couldn't see what it was. “Stand up.”

Steve got right to his feet, hands hanging loosely at his sides, head still tilted down. Natasha took her time in stepping closer to him again, reaching out to brush her thumb over his left nipple and earning a short gasp from him as she began roughly manipulating it into a stiff bud. Steve didn't bother to hide the effect it had on him, his jeans beginning to tighten as she let her fingers wander, giving the other nipple the same treatment before moving on to his abs. When she brushed over his sides, he shivered, but he let out an undeniable moan when she cut him again, low on his stomach near his belt.

_Take me to church.  
_ _I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,  
_ _I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife...  
_ _Offer me that deathless death.  
_ _Good God, let me give you my life._

Natasha's lips curled up into a little smirk and she stepped back again, disappearing from view while she gave her next command. “Strip.” Steve didn't think about it at all before complying, unbuckling his belt and removing his jeans and boxers. Everything was neatly folded, and he placed the pile down on the floor beside him because he knew he wasn't supposed to turn around. As he bowed his head again, he noticed just how hard he was- thick and jutting out from between his legs in quite the obscene way.

“Someone's excited,” came Natasha's voice again, followed by fingertips on his bicep that trailed down his arm, and then over his lower stomach again. She held one hand behind her back and Steve swallowed, imagining what it could be. Eventually, her fingers brushed through the short, blond hairs at the base and Steve's lips parted out of instinct, closing again only when she tilted his head up and told him to close his eyes.

_If I'm a pagan of the good times,  
_ _My lover's the sunlight.  
_ _To keep the goddess on my side,  
_ _She demands a sacrifice._

Just a few seconds later, he felt a tight pressure around the base of his cock and opened his eyes without asking, looking down before she told him to. The slap came suddenly- Natasha's open palm across his face leaving him stinging and hurrying to correct himself. “Don't make me punish you,” she warned, and Steve knew what was expected.

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” he said quietly, looking up towards the ceiling again. “I wasn't thinking.”

Natasha tapped the ring around his cock and earned a sharp intake of breath. “No, you weren't,” she said firmly. “Remember who's in charge here.”

He did remember. God knows Steve remembered exactly who was making the decisions in this room. Staying completely still, he waited for whatever she would do next and wound up parting his lips again as she wrapped her hand around him and stroked. Tingles flew up his spine and his cheeks heated up as he tried not to press into her hand, his whole body tensing. “If you're good, I might just let you come,” she said easily, lightly tapping her fingers against the head and earning a strangled groan in response.

_Drain the whole sea,  
_ _Get something shiny,  
_ _Something meaty for the main course...  
_ _That's a fine looking high horse.  
_ _What you got in the stable?  
_ _We've a lot of starving faithful._

“Crawl onto the bed and stay on your hands and knees,” she told him, and Steve did so right away. No hesitation, no questions. She would take care of him. He felt the bed dip as she knelt behind him, smoothing her hands over the firm globes of his ass and squeezing lightly- before delivering a sharp slap. Steve yelped a little, hanging his head and arching his back out of what he perceived as some kind of sick desire for more of this.

Two more slaps were delivered, one on each cheek, and Steve only pressed back into them, thoroughly enjoying the radiating warmth as her hands settled on his skin again. “You like this,” she observed, parting his cheeks and idly letting her nails rake over the sensitive skin, down to the backs of his thighs. “You're doing very well, _soldat_.”

Steve took the praise to heart, his pulse quickening as she pulled her hands away. He knew he wasn't allowed to look back and see what was happening, so he kept his eyes on the sheets below him instead and tried not to think about the way fluid was beading on the tip of his cock.

_That looks tasty...  
_ _That looks plenty...  
_ _This is hungry work._

When Natasha came back, it was with a vengeance. She parted his cheeks again and let her finger slip between them, earning a surprised gasp as the cool lube she spread over him made contact with his heated skin. “Easy,” she said smoothly, keeping him spread open for her while she rubbed in light circles over his entrance. “Relax.”

Her two words were commands despite their casual tone, and Steve worked hard to do as she said. He let his head hang, breathing deeply and letting it out in a slow stream. Natasha wasn't going to hurt him. She knew what she was doing, and she was taking care of him. But that didn't really give him any preparation for when she began pressing her finger into him. Natasha's fingers were small and delicate, very much like her waist and her feet. Steve had spent more time than he cared to mention sketching her hands holding a pencil, or holding a gun, or just folded up during meetings.

And now she had one of those fingers inside him. Steve focused on his breathing while she worked him open, slipping one finger in beside the first and parting them to make sure he was loose enough for whatever it was that she had planned. “Look how eager you are,” she murmured, her free hand slipping down so she could brush her fingertips over his balls- an action that made him shudder because they were already far more stimulated than he knew how to handle. “How do you feel, _soldat_?”

“Very good, ma'am,” he answered immediately, his voice wavering slightly as she twisted her fingers and inadvertently (or maybe not so inadvertently) pressed against his prostate in a smooth, fleeting motion.

Natasha's fingers were incredibly precise, so he knew that when she begged off his prostate for the time being, she was not doing so for lack of knowledge or skill. She was doing it to tease him, to keep him on his toes. “I want you to put your head on the pillow,” she said softly. “And keep your hips in the air. Spread your legs for me.”

He did exactly as he was told, rearranging himself and spreading his legs a bit to give her more access to his most private areas. This was Steve trusting her to do what she wanted because he knew as well as she did that he wanted it too. There was a drip, then another, and Steve moaned as she spread the lube over his already stretched hole, skillfully pressing another finger into him beside the first. “There's a good boy,” she praised, and Steve could do little more than curl his hands into the sheets for some kind of grounding. If he didn't have that, he was afraid he might just forget where he was and who he was, and give himself completely over to her. But that was the point, wasn't it? He wanted to forget.

_Take me to church.  
_ _I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,  
_ _I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife...  
_ _Offer me my deathless death.  
_ _Good God, let me give you my life._

A moment later, Natasha's deft fingers were pressing right against his prostate, earning what must have been a startled whine from the solider at her mercy. Steve's hands curled up a little more and he closed his eyes, his biting down on his lower lip to keep himself from begging for more. He knew it would come anyway. She would give him more without him asking for it. Sure enough, she was pressing insistently against his sweet spot, pulling a startled moan from him-- and she didn't let up.

Steve could hardly breathe, let alone think. His knuckles turned white with the death grip he had on the sheets, and he shifted as little as possible, but he did shift. His hips rocked back into her fingers as she continued to work over his prostate, rubbing and tracing over the sensitive gland, her free hand keeping him spread open for her. This. This was why Steve loved her (and he wouldn't even do her the disservice of doubting that he did). Natasha had the unique ability to make him feel like a man; not a soldier, not a superhuman, not Captain America. He was just Steve, and he belonged to her.

_No masters or kings  
_ _When the ritual begins.  
_ _There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin..._

Eventually, Steve's thighs began to tremble. His stomach tightened and soft whimpers became frantic moans, his arms bulging as his grip threatened the strength of the sheets he held onto for dear life. He felt at least once or twice that he might have come already, but the unforgiving ring around his cock and balls kept him from it, the exertion and denial making sweat bead on his forehead and near the curve of his spine. It was always a strange sensation when she stopped the course of nature, but Steve knew he'd feel better for it, in the end.

The band finally snapped when Natasha twisted her fingers just so and every little bit of Steve's body went tight, his lips parting in a startled moan, his toes curling as he both desperately tried to get away from Natasha's now gentle caresses to his prostate and kept pressing back against them to get more. When it was over, though small tremors kept making their way through him, Steve felt Natasha slowly withdraw her fingers and slumped down without asking, but the friction of his swollen length against the sheets only earned another pained moan. She would take care of him now. She had to.

_In the madness and soil of that sad, earthly scene...  
_ _Only then I am human,  
_ _Only then I am clean.  
_ _Oh, amen. Amen. Amen._

“Steve,” she murmured, her voice cutting right through the haze. “Steve, turn over.” Obedient, he carefully flopped onto his back and looked up at her, too far gone to really observe the rules- like that he should be keeping his eyes down. “Get up,” she said anyway, knowing he would gather himself enough to do as she said. “Kneel on the bed.”

It took him a minute to actually do it, but Steve valiantly dragged himself up and knelt on the bed, his knees spread wide, hands planted on the bed behind him while he leaned back. Because he could hardly hold himself up. “You've been such a good boy,” she praised, leaning close to him so she could whisper into his ear, lightly pressing her lips to his jaw, then his neck. As she distracted him, she nimbly released him from the cock ring, tossing it aside in favor of ghosting her fingers over his heated flesh. “Вы заслуживаете награды**.”

Steve practically wept as her hand finally wrapped around him, those same fingers moving up until her thumb was rubbing against the slit on top, smearing the fluid gathered there over the thick head. “That's it,” she murmured against his jaw, stroking him in a few smooth motions. “Come for me, Steve.”

That was it. The second she gave him permission and told him to come, Steve let go. He came with a long groan, letting his head fall back as thick, white strands painted his stomach and her hand alike. It was a release- this learned sign that he could relax now.

Now that he knew it was over, Steve fell back again, boneless and sated and impossibly, perfectly numb. He felt Natasha release him and the bed dip as she stepped away, returning with a cloth she'd dampened with warm water. Carefully, she cleaned him up- the remnants of his most obvious orgasm, but also the smears of lube between his cheeks. She disappeared again and by the time she came back, Steve's eyes were closed and his lips had curled up into a small smile.

The first thing he heard from her was the soft rustle of clothing as she stripped. Her bra hit the floor, then she removed her panties as well, all before crawling into bed beside him and tugging the sheets over the both of them. As always, Steve reached out for her and wound his arms around her waist, pulling her as close to him as he could, his head ducking down to rest against her chest while her fingers lightly carded through his hair. The wounds from her blade were still throbbing now that he was coming down from it all, his body thrumming with all she'd put him through, all she'd done for him.

The next morning, he would wake her up with his head between her thighs and maybe one day, he'd take this to another level. Maybe one day, after he'd worked up the courage to tell her that he loved her, he'd ask her to be his for once.

_Take me to church.  
_ _I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,  
_ _I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife...  
_ _Offer me that deathless death.  
_ _Good God, let me give you my life._

*My little, wooden soldier.  
**You deserve a reward. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
